


Remember Me

by AnnaKnitsSpock



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Brainwashing, F/F, Femslash, Lesbians, Lesbians in Space, T'Pring is an Enterprise officer, T'Pring/Uhura, femmeslash, imagine this is one of the ridiculous Star Trek episodes where they have to wear silly costumes, t'pura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaKnitsSpock/pseuds/AnnaKnitsSpock
Summary: Captured, brainwashed, and held in a strangely Earth-like religious sanctuary, Nyota Uhura doesn't know who she is. Convinced that she's an alien saint with no past and a sacrificial destiny, her time is running out. Only her lover, Lieutenant T'Pring of the Enterprise, can remind her of her true self and bring her home—but she only has 12 days to do it.





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the 2017 Femslash Big Bang. Thanks to the moderators for organizing it! We need 1701% more femslash in Star Trek. 
> 
> Pixie has created a wonderful playlist and art for the story, please check it out [here](http://pixiedane.tumblr.com/post/168088696008/my-lady-sun-an-instrumental-companion-playlist)! Find Pixie as [magnetgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/magnetgirl) on AO3 and [pixiedane](http://pixiedane.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to my beloved [Cohobbitation](http://cohobbitation.tumblr.com/), without whom it would not exist. I ended up having to write this story through some hard times, and they held my hand, cheered me on, fed me ideas, and gave me a spectacular beta. Thank you so much for the effort and love you poured into this story, my dear.

_Captain’s Log, Stardate 2264.1_

_We are still in orbit around Eri Azan III. My crew was able to successfully investigate the Azanian culture in response to Starfleet’s concerns about this planet, based on rumors which have made their way back to the Federation. I can confirm with absolute certainty that the Azanians, through an as-yet-undetermined influence—but presumably a violation of the Prime Directive by humans—have indeed adopted a distorted approximation of the cultural behavior and adornment common on Earth in the 18th century, specifically in Europe, especially France._

_The landing party has returned to the ship and, as far as we know, no further contamination of the species has occurred. All officers utilized disguises and universal translators to conceal our identity per Prime Directive regulations._

_However, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, my chief communications officer, has been captured and is currently imprisoned by the Azanians, who believe her to be a mythical figure whose arrival was foretold in their spiritual prophecy._

_Although the Azanians are not warp-capable, they are in possession of advanced technology, which they have used to alter Lieutenant Uhura’s memory. During our scouting mission, Commander Spock’s superior Vulcan hearing allowed him to overhear an Azanian mystic telling another that the intent of the Azanian priests was to abduct Lieutenant Uhura, erase most of her authentic memories, and replace them with counterfeit memories so that she will be complacent in her role as their spiritual figurehead._

_Our landing party fled the planet upon this revelation, but Lieutenant Uhura was seized by the Azanians before she could reach the beam-up point. She is now being held in a location outfitted with a jamming device that blocks our transporter access. We have been attempting to rescue her for nearly four days without success._

_Ten minutes ago, the_ Enterprise _was assigned a critical medical aid mission on Antares, where an epidemic of arethian flu has taken hold. Because the Enterprise must deliver life-saving medication, it is impossible for us to stay longer at Eri Azan II. But I am unwilling to abandon one of the most valuable officers on my ship._

_I have assigned Lieutenant T’Pring to infiltrate the group of Azanians responsible for the abduction and attempt to retrieve Lieutenant Uhura. She will adhere to the Prime Directive at all times and will not reveal her identity as a Starfleet Officer. We will make the trip to Antares and back in twelve Earth days, during which time Lieutenant T’Pring will seek a method not only of disabling the jammer, but also of restoring Lieutenant Uhura’s memory. If Lieutenant Uhura leaves the planet of her own free will rather than by forcible removal, we are hopeful that her imagined identity as a spiritual figure will be preserved, and that no future officers will be at risk of the same crime._

_If all else fails, however, we will rescue her by any means necessary upon our return from Antares._

\---

T’Pring hurried through the corridors, trying to keep up with the long, efficient strides of the Captain and First Officer. It was slightly difficult given the heavy skirts and tight bodice of her dress, a garment modeled approximately after ancient Earth fashion common to 18th-century European peasants. She was also struggling to tie the accompanying bonnet she was wearing to hide her ears and eyebrows.

“Repeat your cover story, Lieutenant,” Kirk said over his shoulder.

Slightly out of breath, T’Pring intoned, “I have been sent from a Southern province to serve as ladies maid for Lieutenant Uhura, whom the native Azanians have given the name “Lady Sun.” My confirmation of hire and letter of recommendation come from the house of Lord Liffess, a minor figure in the structure of prominent Azanian families. Based on our research, the cumbersome system of written communication favored by the Azanians renders it is unlikely that anyone in the household where Lieutenant Uhura is being held will contact Lord Liffess to confirm this servant transfer. Once I have infiltrated the group of servants and spiritual leaders responsible for keeping Lieutenant Uhura imprisoned, I will attempt to become close to her and trigger her awareness of her true self. It is hopeful that, based upon our romantic association, my presence will be particularly disturbing to her falsified memories.”

They swung around a corner, close now to the transporter bay. Crewmembers were turning around to see her costume; she tried to ignore them. Kirk shook his head indulgently.

“Try that again, T’Pring, this time less like a Vulcan Starfleet Officer and more like an Azanian talking to another Azanian.”

T’Pring resisted a frustrated huff. This exercise seemed tedious, but she did understand the captain’s need to ensure that she was properly prepared.

“I have been sent from the house of Lord Liffess in the Southern province to serve as ladies maid for Lady Sun. Here is the confirmation of hire and letter of recommendation provided by my former employer.”

Kirk sighed. “Close enough.”

They strode through the doors of the transporter room, where Doctor McCoy and Commander Scott were waiting.

“Got the translator ready, Bones?” the Captain asked, and Doctor McCoy held up a small injector.

“Great. Take your supplies, Lieutenant,” Kirk said, and Spock handed her a long-range communicator and a small scanner, as well as the falsified letter of recommendation their cultural research had indicated she would need. T’Pring located a pocket in her dress where the items could be placed.

Kirk gestured her over to the doctor and T’Pring stood in front of him, facing away. She felt his gentle fingers push one of her ears forward, the cold tip of a hypospray placed directly behind it.

“Just a quick pinch,” he promised, and deployed the injector. The pain was certainly more than what T’Pring would call a “pinch,” and she could not help a small gasp as she felt the translator implant lodge uncomfortably under her skin.

“Sorry, sugar,” Dr. McCoy said softly, rubbing the impacted area. T’Pring had long since accepted that his unnecessary endearments were not patronizing, and so allowed herself to take a small amount of comfort in his alien reassurance.

As she mounted the transporter pad, Kirk joined Lieutenant Commander Scott behind the control panel.

“Make sure she’s in the copse of trees just outside the manor,” Kirk instructed. “It’s crucial no one sees her.”

“No problem, sir,” Scotty promised. Kirk looked up at her.

“See you in 12 days, Lieutenant. Be careful.”

\---

 _Four days earlier._

At first there was only darkness. Then, filtering in through her eyelids, there was light.

Voices moved against the deep of her mind: vague, wordless noise. Time passed. She could not say how much.

But eventually, the sound took form, the light grew stronger.

“...Sun? My Lady Sun?”

Her eyes fluttered open against the weight of the sunlight. Above her, in a ring, were five figures. White-skinned, heads white-tentacled, familiar-unfamiliar.

 _Elders_ , her mind supplied, but the thought had a strange, plastic quality.

She sat up in a rush, and the elders all backed up, giving her space. She was in a massive, empty room, pinkish light pouring through great windows and a glass ceiling.

“Where am I?” The words felt strange on her tongue, as if she had only just learned them.

“Where _are_ you?” one of the elders said back to her. “Think, My Lady Sun. Where are you?”

She thought. Her mind was a scrap quilt of color and memory, of light. “The Hall of Light. This is the Hall of Light, in the Manor of the Sun.”

The priests nodded happily, their tentacles squirming. She reached up and touched her head. She had no tentacles. She had… the word “hair” floated up from somewhere in her mind, the tone and inflection of it different, somehow, than the other words knocking around in her head.

“What Gods do you serve, My Lady?” asked another elder.

“The Gods of Light,” she said automatically. That was basic: she had been taught to worship the Gods since she was a child. Again, the elders nodded happily.

One of them kneeled before her, raising his palms in supplication. “Tell us, who is the Lady Sun?”

Another easy answer. Her thoughts were cluttered and slow, but religious doctrine came to the surface of her mind easily, as if those thoughts were… fresh. “She is the prophecy, the convoy of the Gods. She will come to bring their message to the people.”

“Very good. And I bring to you the most blessed message that _you_ are the Lady Sun, which is why we have brought you here, to live in our holy house and speak daily to the Gods. We are honored and humbled by your presence.”

The priests bowed.

“M– me?” she stammered. “I– I’m not her, I’m just a common girl from… from the village.”

“No, My Lady. You may have been born in the village, but you are so much more than a common girl. You were seen in the village touching the great Pillar of Light—do you know what that is?”

“The statue made by the earliest priests,” she supplied automatically. “In the sculpture garden near the market.”

“Indeed. And under your fingers, the Pillar moved. It shook. Just the Pillar, nothing near it—you were seen by several villagers, and all attest to your power. None but the Lady Sun could move the Great Pillar with just a touch. We knew then who you were, and that our duty was to retrieve you and bring you here, that we may serve you, and that you may serve the people”

She searched her mind, but came up empty. “I don’t remember any of that,” she admitted. The priests chuckled gently.

“Of course not, My Lady. You were in direct communion with the Gods. Divine communication can be taxing. Confusing. To stand in their presence is awesome and overwhelming. You may find that your memory is sometimes… affected.”

She supposed that explained why she felt so uncertain. “Will I live here now?”

“Yes, My Lady Sun. Only from the Manor and with the religious artifacts we keep here can you achieve the closest contact with the Gods.”

“But… What about my family?”

With a sudden spike of panic, she realized that she could not remember her mother’s face. She ferreted desperately through her mind until she came up with warm brown skin, sharp eyes, a laughing smile. She struggled to remember more details, but the voice of the priest broke through.

“They are far away, aren’t they? You have not seen them for many years.”

Yes, that seemed right. She had been… away. Slowly, she nodded.

“Very good, My Lady.” Suddenly, his hand shot out and gripped her elbow, and he pulled her up to sway unsteadily on her feet.

“It is time for you to communicate again with the Gods, My Lady.”

She was steered to the foot of the podium as the priests formed a circle around her, looking intently at her. The one holding her elbow stayed with her as a clattering began to echo in the Hall. She turned around and saw another woman, a servant with dark blue skin, wheeling a golden cart with some kind of golden headpiece on it. She looked up at the priest.

“You don’t remember,” he said softly, “but you have already done this. You spoke to the Gods as soon as we brought you to the Manor. That was a more… intensive session; you should be able to remember this one.”

She felt scared but couldn’t put her finger on why: surely nothing that brought her closer to the Gods could be bad? The priests had said it was overwhelming—perhaps she was simply nervous to face the divine.

The servant with the cart drew up next to them, and the priest reverently lifted the headpiece.

“This is the Crown of Seeing. When you come to speak to the Gods, you will follow this ritual. You will enter the Hall of Light, approach our podium, and we will ask you this.”

In unison, all of the priests intoned, “Lady Sun, how may we serve you today?”

She swallowed. The first priest smiled and continued, “And you will respond, ‘By allowing me to speak the words of the Gods.’ Go on.”

“By allowing me to speak the words of the Gods,” she whispered.

“Very good.” The priest reached out and placed the crown on her head. It fell below her eyes so that she could see nothing, and past her ears so that she could hear little but an echoing ringing that seemed to emanate from the inside of the helmet. “This will put you in direct connection to the Gods,” she heard the priest say as if from far away, and then the echoing swelled into a loud buzzing that swallowed her up. The elders began to chant.

For a unmeasured amount of time, she drifted in the high-pitched vibration. Then, suddenly, her muscles seized up and a horrific pain tore through her body. The pain was accompanied by a sudden babbling in her mind, screaming voices she didn’t understand. She was vaguely aware that she was screaming the words in concert, even though she couldn’t even begin to decipher them.

She screamed and screamed, words forced from her mouth that changed and morphed until she felt as though she were shouting in a thousand different languages, all lost to her. Finally, one of the voices took on a desperate quality, the words scratchy and full of shushing, whispered consonants.

_Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh._

As that chant repeated in a sickening loop, the worst pulse of pain went through her and she finally screamed loud enough to break the spell, to stop repeating the words being shot through her mind. She fell to the ground and the helmet clattered off.

When she was able to focus her vision, she saw the priest replacing the Crown of Seeing on the cart and the rest smiling down at her.

“Very good, My Lady Sun. We have heard the message of the Gods. We will translate and proclaim it.”

“I— I didn’t understand it,” she croaked, finding her voice weak and broken.

“Of course not, My Lady. You are the vessel of the Gods, but it is only we who can interpret their voice. Mrs. Spess?”

He gestured into the shadows where a different servant appeared, a woman with magenta skin and a kind smile. “Hello, My Lady Sun,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Spess. I’m going to take you to your room now.”

Mrs. Spess helped her up and led her out of the Hall of Light. They walked through hallways and corridors but it seemed to her that everything was wobbling and jittering before her. Her head ached unbearably, and she realized belatedly that she was crying. Mrs. Spess just tightened her hold and, as her vision began to blink and swim in earnest, she was pushed sightlessly forward.

She was vaguely aware of being undressed and helped into a bed, but that was the last she knew for some time.

\---

T’Pring materialized on damp ground that sunk under her artifical leather boots. The air was just slightly too thin—Dr. McCoy had promised she would acclimate to it quickly. But for now T’Pring closed her eyes and took several breaths, as deep as she could manage, before observing her surroundings.

The gables of a huge manor house were visible above the treeline, and T’Pring moved off in that direction. There was a fine drizzle under a cloudy, pale pink sky, the planet’s rosy orange sun dipping toward the horizon.

T’Pring’s skirts tangled around her legs; what utterly impractical attire. Despite the extra effort it took to walk thanks to the heavy fabric and the atmosphere, she shivered; she should have thought to research warm garments to wear over her dress.

When she emerged from the treeline, she found herself on the edge of several sprawling, misty gardens filled with unfamiliar plants. T’Pring did not even need to tamp her scientific curiosity—her only focus was reaching Nyota.

Based on scans of the planet and the cultural intelligence they had managed to gather, Spock and T’Pring had determined where the so-called “servant’s entrance” was likely to be. T’Pring made her way through the gardens and found it with only minimal searching, rapping twice on the door.

It opened to reveal a plump woman whose clothing resembled her own to a degree T’Pring hoped was sufficient. Her skin was magenta, dozens of thin, delicate antennae swept back over her head like hair. She had tied them up with a purple ribbon as if to keep them out of her face.

“Yes?” she asked. Her voice carried an unfamiliar accent but the translator seemed to be working.

“I am here to begin my appointment as Lady Sun’s maid.” T’Pring reached into her pocket and withdrew the manufactured letter, holding it out. The servant woman squinted at her but took the paper and read it over. When she was done she looked up and resumed her squinting.

“No one requested a new maid for Lady Sun.”

T’Pring raised her eyebrow. Even though her bonnet mitigated the impact, the woman still looked cowed.

“Obviously someone did,” T’Pring said tonelessly, “as I am here with a personal recommendation from Lord Liffess’s household which, as you have read, indicates my exemplary ability and the presumption that I have already been hired.”

The woman maintained her doubtful glare for only a few moments before she shook her head. “Well, you’re needed anyway. Lady Sun’s just arrived a few days ago and we don’t have enough ladies to look after her. Come on.”

She ushered T’Pring into a steamy kitchen where T’Pring had to hold her breath, eyes watering. She should have asked Dr. McCoy for a nasal paralyzer. It would only have lasted for the first day on the planet but that would have been something, at least.

There was only a handful of servants in the kitchen; most of the work was being completed by the machinery the Azanians utilized in some aspects of their lives but not, illogically, in others. The Azanians glanced at T’Pring as she passed through. Their faces were humanoid, and among their species skin varied widely in color, so T’Pring was not out of place. But their delicate prehensile antennae were curling curiously, impossible to miss. T’Pring touched her bonnet self-consciously; it was imperative that her hair remain hidden at all times to conceal her non-Azanian identity.

They left the kitchen and came out into a stairwell, where the woman took off her stained apron and hung it on a hook. “I’m Mrs. Spess. I’m in charge of the servants. You’ll report to me. This way.”

She led T’Pring upstairs, rattling off rules and expectations that T’Pring afforded the bare minimum of attention to memorize.

The manor house became increasingly more lush the higher they climbed. Finally they entered a gold-paneled hallway and Mrs. Spess led T’Pring past paintings of pastoral scenes, white marble statues, and other gaudy decorations until they reached a set of double doors, white with blue trim. She knocked and, after a moment, Nyota’s voice came through the door. “Enter.”

As Mrs. Spess opened the doors, T’Pring took a deep breath and steeled herself, drawing upon every Vulcan reserve she could access. She followed the servant in, staring resolutely ahead of her in order to catch sight of Nyota as soon as possible.

Perhaps she should have kept her gaze downcast, however, for she was not prepared for Nyota’s appearance, and her pace stuttered at the sight of her amnesiac lover.

Nyota was standing at the foot of an enormous four-poster bed, face blank. She was dressed in a corseted gown, deep violet, her waist pinched unnaturally and her chest flattened. Her breasts were pressed so tightly that they were spilling over her plunging neckline. Her voluminous skirt spread around her at an unnatural angle, supported, T’Pring knew from her research, by an apparatus called a _pannier_ under her dress.

Her wig was dark blue, powdered yellow—it was certainly only a coincidence, but the colors reminded T’Pring of the expanse of space as viewed from the porthole of a starship. The wig’s style was similar to what Nyota had often identified as an “afro,” with the addition of exaggerated curls originating at the base of Nyota’s skull and draped elegantly over both shoulders.

Everything about her was wrong, but there was no denying how extraordinarily beautiful she was, how strange. T’Pring had always been weak, utterly weak, when it came to Nyota. She disrupted her, a force strong enough to threaten T’Pring’s logic but which she could never bring herself to resent.

Mrs. Spess was speaking to Nyota, presumably informing her of T’Pring’s arrival. And then, before T’Pring was expecting it, she had departed the room and left Nyota and T’Pring alone.

Nyota was looking at her, neither curious nor disinterested.

“You’re My Lady’s maid, then? Since I got here the other maids have just been taking turns.”

T’Pring managed to tilt her head in affirmation.

“Yes. My sole duty is to serve you.”

Nyota nodded. There was almost nothing of her usual warmth, the fire under her skin that drew T’Pring like a moth blinded by flame. T’Pring found herself wishing illogically that she could, as Captain Kirk would say, “fuck” the Prime Directive and simply spirit Nyota home, bury her in their bed and deal with her memory loss aboard the ship.

But that was not the reality of their current situation. The ship was not even in the same sector now. _Kaiidith_.

“Well?” Nyota said, clearly a bit confused by T’Pring’s silence. Ah yes, T’Pring was almost certainly expected to perform a duty—what time was it on this planet? Evening, she remembered with effort.

“Shall I undress you?” she asked, a question she had asked so many times, albeit under very different circumstances.

“My Lady Sun,” Nyota said, voice flat but expectant. T’Pring paused, uncertain.

“Excuse me?”

“The servants address me as My Lady Sun.”

“Oh. Of course, my apologies. Shall I undress you, My Lady Sun?”

“Yes, please.”

T’Pring circled around behind her and took stock of the ludicrously complicated fastenings. Why any culture would be attracted to this time period in Earth’s history was beyond her, especially when they were technologically advanced enough to live much more efficiently.

Eventually she managed to loosen the outermost garment enough to slip it off over Nyota’s head, a heavy pile of slippery brocade T’Pring was forced to dump ungracefully on the bed before she dropped it. She would neaten and put away the clothes later.

This left Nyota in a shift and the ridiculous _pannier_ , which T’Pring untied and drew down to the floor. Nyota stepped out of it and T’Pring nudged it uncertainly aside. She bent to lift the hem of the shift, pulling it up and off Nyota’s body.

She went around to Nyota’s front, intending to remove her wig. She stared at the soft curves and warm skin of this woman she loved, who had shaken T’Pring all the way to her Surakian foundations.

She gripped the cumbersome wig on either side and gave a little tug, but Nyota’s hand flew to her head. “Ow! It’s pinned!”

T’Pring snatched her hands back. “Please forgive me, I– I was not thinking.”

Nyota was glaring at her. “You should know better than that. Are you not trained?”

“I am,” T’Pring lied. “I come highly recommended from Lord Liffess; I was simply being negligent. I regret that I am quite fatigued, as I have… traveled a long way.”

Nyota looked her over skeptically. T’Pring had the inappropriate thought that, if they managed to secure a favorable outcome to this ridiculous situation, she would like to have a holo of Nyota exactly as she looked now: naked, pouting slightly, nipples hard against the chill air, an absurd but beautiful wig on her head.

Nyota seemed to grudgingly forgive her. “I’m cold,” she said simply.

T’Pring realized she had not obtained anything to put _on_ Nyota after she undressed her—that was not exactly their typical routine. A quick glance around the room revealed a wardrobe and T’Pring hurried over to open it, finding several cream-colored garments that could easily be either shifts or nightgowns. She chose the one that looked least like the shift she had just taken off Nyota, a long-sleeved flannel gown embroidered with blue flowers.

Nyota was still standing in the same spot, watching her.

“What’s your name?” she asked when T’Pring had returned to her.

She slipped the nightgown carefully over the wig, guided Nyota’s arms through the sleeves. “T’Pring,” she murmured.

They had decided she would use her real name in the hopes that Nyota’s mind would snag on it—Azanian names were diverse and they had gambled that T’Pring’s would not seem totally out of place.

Indeed, Nyota’s gaze slipped to her and froze, eyebrows furrowing. T’Pring stared steadily back, watching for a flicker of recognition. But Nyota simply gave a little shake of her head and looked away. T’Pring sighed.

She sat Nyota at a large vanity carved with golden scrollwork and pink roses. Everything here was extremely and uselessly luxuriant; it grated on T’Pring’s nerves. She managed to remove the wig, then took off Nyota’s makeup with a cloth and cream she found on the vanity table. Next she brushed out Nyota’s hair as she had done so many times, and she was pleased to observe that at least Nyota’s muscle memory was intact: she shivered and relaxed into T’Pring’s attentions as she always did.

After a few silent minutes, Nyota said quietly, “You said you were tired. You should go to sleep as soon as you’re done.”

T’Pring braided Nyota’s hair as she prefered it at night. “Thank you, My Lady Sun. You are fully prepared for bed.”

Nyota looked up at her, eyes so blank and dull. “The way you talk is strange.”

“I...” T’Pring did not know what to say. Nyota smiled vaguely.

“Is that how you talk in the Southern Province? I’ve never been there.”

“Yes. Some of us do.”

Nyota turned back to her vanity, drawing her braid over her shoulder and stroking it absently. “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep too.” She took a breath and stared resolutely at the mirror, as if she was nervous. “I have terrible nightmares. None of the maids will help and the priests say it is a weakness I need to overcome, but I don’t know what they mean. I order you to sleep in my bed with me so I’ll be less afraid.”

After an embarrassed pause, Nyota added, “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I will sleep with you,” T’Pring said, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke Nyota’s exposed neck. Her big human eyes finally looked up at T’Pring, full of helpless confusion.

“Do you wish to discuss your nightmares?” T’Pring asked.

Nyota quickly shook her head. “I don’t really remember them after I wake up. Just… flashes. And I still feel so afraid, I just can’t remember why.”

T’Pring gave into her impulse to touch her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Come to bed now, My Lady.”

When they were climbing into bed, Nyota asked, “Aren’t you going to take off your bonnet?” T’Pring was wearing the shift from under her dress and, of course, the bonnet, which she touched self-consciously.

“I prefer to leave it on, my… ears become cold easily.”

Nyota looked a bit bemused but dismissed it, snuggling down into the covers, black braid coiled near her head like a shining snake. T’Pring lay down beside her.

The bed was large and, obviously, they did not touch each other. Nonetheless, the combination of a warm bed and Nyota’s proximity drew T’Pring almost instantly to the edge of sleep. She managed to glance over at Nyota once more and found her curled on her side, eyes on T’Pring. When their gazes locked, Nyota looked away, embarrassed again.

“Do you require anything else?” T’Pring asked gently.

“No, thank you,” Nyota whispered. “You should sleep.”

“Please do not hesitate to wake me,” T’Pring said, and within moments sleep took her completely.

\---

She remembered things. Sometimes when she was awake, other times in dreams. Things from her life before she became the Lady Sun, people she had known.

But what she remembered didn’t always make sense. She remembered bright white hallways, beeping in her ears and the humming of a distant engine under her feet. Faceless figures dressed in red and blue and yellow.

Talking, she had always been always talking, words on words on words. None of the words made sense now.

And there was someone she missed like a hole in her body: a woman. Sharp ears, long smoke-curtain hair, deft fingers, green-tipped breasts. Voice on the edges of her hearing, metronomic. It would have been robotic if there wasn’t a shiver of lust and affection running through it.

The memories were burned from her brain each time she used the Crown of Seeing, but then, slowly, they drifted back in until she felt she was on the edge of understanding, about to recall something vitally important.

But the elders always called her back before she could remember.


	2. Day Two

Bright natural light woke T’Pring the next morning, piercing through her eyelids. She had become so accustomed to the _Enterprise_ ’s artificial illumination that anything else was slightly surreal.

She opened her eyes, blinking, to find Nyota sitting up next to her, silhouetted by the sunlight. It was not difficult for T’Pring, like the Azanians, to imagine Nyota as some kind of solar deity; she certainly always inspired a reverential fascination in T’Pring.

“Are you alright, Ny–” T’Pring faltered. “My Lady Sun?”

Nyota nodded slowly. One of her breasts had escaped the loose neck of her nightgown. T’Pring tried and failed not to look at it.

“I didn’t have any nightmares,” Nyota said. She sounded confused.

“I am gratified,” T’Pring said carefully.

Nyota opened her mouth as if to say more, but closed it again and looked away, confusion wrinkling her forehead.

T’Pring allowed herself the luxury of remaining against the pillows, still watching the silhouette of Nyota’s profile against the window.

“I’d like a bath,” Nyota said eventually.

“Very well, My Lady Sun.”

When T’Pring didn’t elaborate, Nyota turned an expectant look on her, and T’Pring realized she was supposed to facilitate Nyota’s bathing. She stood, making sure her bonnet was in place.

“I will retrieve you when the bath is ready,” she said. She approached a door in the corner of the bedroom, hoping it led to the bathroom which, thankfully, it did.

In the spacious tiled room, T’Pring found a claw-foot tub, white with gold fittings. The Azanians used highly advanced plumbing technology in concert with antiquated hardware, yet another contradiction T’Pring could not understand.

She managed to employ both faucets on the tub to achieve an ideal temperature. There was a basket of fragrant oils nearby and T’Pring opened the bottles until she found one she thought Nyota would enjoy.

When the tub was full, she opened the door to summon Nyota, who slipped dreamily into the room and took off her nightgown. It was emotionally painful, T’Pring had to admit, seeing Nyota so stripped of her intelligence and keen attentiveness.

Nyota stepped into the tub and sank until only her head was above the water. She looked up at T’Pring.

“Would you like me to bathe you?” T’Pring asked, and sighed internally at Nyota’s expressionless nod.

Just one month and two days ago, Nyota had said, “Next time we’re on a planet with a secluded hot spring or private baths or something, I have a sex thing I want to do.” T’Pring had just gotten out of a sonic shower to find Nyota leaning naked against the sink, arms crossed, a mischievous look in her hypnotic brown eyes.

“Yes?” T’Pring had prompted.

“I want you to bathe me.”

“I fail to see an erotic element of proper hygiene.”

Nyota had laughed, pulling T’Pring to her by the hips. “Really? You can’t think of anything erotic about soaping me down all over, slowly, maybe paying extra attention to my tits, my ass, spreading me open to get me nice and clean…?

T’Pring had stared at her for a long moment. “Perhaps,” she had admitted, before leaning in to to kiss her deep and hard.

 _This_ was not what Nyota had had in mind. T’Pring would have to make it up to her when—if—she managed to rescue her from this absurdity.

There was a neon purple object in the basket of oils that looked like some kind of dried sea sponge, as well as a cake of soap. T’Pring dipped the sponge into the warm water and rubbed the soap into a lather against it, kneeling on the white-and-blue-tiled floor.

As she ran the sponge over Nyota’s skin, Nyota’s eyes fluttered and she leaned heavily against the rim of the tub.

“That feels nice,” she muttered. T’Pring didn’t know how to respond, so said nothing.

Light filtered through the steam rising off the water, and they lapsed into an almost ritualistic silence as T’Pring methodically washed each part of Nyota’s body. Her complacency troubled T’Pring—she lifted her arms and legs obediently and when T’Pring slid her hand gently down Nyota’s stomach toward her genitals, Nyota spread her legs without prompting. T’Pring experienced a flash of anger at the realization that others had likely done this for Nyota, that in her intentionally confused state of mind she had been so vulnerable and open to assault.

T’Pring washed Nyota’s vulva and the little furl of her anus with care, making sure not to dwell longer than necessary upon those treasured body parts. Nyota could not currently consent to anything, regardless of T’Pring’s established relationship with her, and so T’Pring ensured that there was nothing sexual about her touch, ignoring the pulse between her own legs that Nyota’s body so reliably elicited.

She did happen to glance up, however, with her fingers against Nyota’s vagina, and found Nyota watching her with a slightly confused but undeniably aroused expression. There was a surge of slippery wetness against T’Pring’s fingers that was in no way related to the bathwater. She quickly withdrew her hand and Nyota snapped her legs shut. T’Pring sat back on her haunches, looking at the floor and respectfully pretending not to notice Nyota’s reaction.

Privately, however, she allowed herself a flare of hope. If Nyota was already experiencing attraction to her, perhaps some part of her remembered the torrid, desperate magnetism that drew them together.

Nyota stood up abruptly, and T’Pring hurried to get her a towel and help her out of the tub. She was refusing to look at T’Pring, and T’Pring wished there was some way to quell her embarrassment but logically, there was not. Nyota did not know her. She could not remember, as T’Pring could, every night they had folded into each other, pushed into each other’s bodies, consumed each other whole.

T’Pring checked herself. Anxiety was slipping through her bloodstream, her emotions uncontrolled and persistent. She would need to devise some way to meditate in secret.

A knock on the door made them both jump. T’Pring hurried back into the bedroom, wiping her damp hands on her shift. She opened the door to find Mrs. Spess, who looked her up and down with an expression of horror.

“Why are you still in your nightgown?”

“Ah—” T’pring did not know how to answer that question, and could imagine no reason why still wearing her shift should be so problematic. Thankfully, Mrs. Spess expounded upon her initial reaction.

“You should rise _at least_ two hours before the Lady Sun and be fully dressed before waking her! I have half a mind to dismiss you on the spot!”

No, that was an unacceptable outcome. T’Pring struggled to explain herself, but the minute details of this culture were utterly beyond her knowledge.

“You will do no such thing.”

Nyota was quite suddenly right behind T’Pring, holding a silk robe around herself in a desperate grip that belied her commanding tone.

Mrs. Spess immediately ducked her head. “Of course, My Lady Sun. I wished to tell you that the elders request your presence in the Hall of Light in one hour.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Spess. You may go.”

Mrs. Spess hurried respectfully away, and T’Pring closed the door.

“Thank you, My Lady Sun.”

Nyota shrugged. The confused, blank expression had settled back into the lines of her face. “I feel safer with you than with the others,” she said quietly, before sitting at her dressing table as if that were a perfectly normal thing to say to a stranger. There was clearly so much of Nyota’s true self boiling just below the surface of her brainwashed mind, trying to break through. How cruel and, apparently, weak the Azanians' methods were.

T’Pring put Nyota’s makeup and wig on—this morning Nyota requested an ivory-colored one trimmed with purple flowers—and helped her into her undergarments and another ridiculous dress, this time a pale purple brocade.

Finally, Nyota stood before her, a painted doll. They looked at each other, long and silent, neither quite sure what to say.

“Are you going to dress?” asked Nyota eventually.

T’Pring realized she still hadn’t gotten herself ready, so she quickly pulled her dress back over her shift, put on her apron, and re-tied her bonnet strings. It would be necessary to wake before Nyota tomorrow so that she could free her hair to be washed and brushed.

Nyota watched her steadily, fiddling nervously with the bows on her dress. “Will you come with me? To see the elders?” she asked.

“Of course, My Lady Sun.”

They left the bedroom and Nyota led them through more of the twisting, luxuriously decorated hallways. She stopped and switched directions three times, indicating that she did not yet know her way around this strange new place.

Finally they arrived at two massive glass doors, stretching all the way from floor to ceiling. Light was pouring through them, almost blinding. Nyota stopped and looked at T’Pring, waiting to be let into the room, so T’Pring took one gold handle and pulled the surprisingly light door open. Nyota brushed past her and T’Pring followed into what Mrs. Spess had called the Hall of Light.

It was a spacious room with a glass ceiling that let in every beam of the rosy morning light. T’Pring quickly observed as many details as she was able, most notably the five Azanians standing at the far end of the room, waiting for them.

They all had bright white skin, utterly devoid of pigment. They were dressed in identical orange robes, and all had their tentacles coiled around their head and secured with red diadems. They were staring intently at Nyota.

T’Pring and Nyota crossed the wide tiled hall, empty but for a small podium on which the elders stood. Their footsteps echoed and, T’Pring noticed, Nyota’s breath picked up every .335 seconds, until her bound chest was almost heaving against her bodice.

They stopped in front of the podium and Nyota drew herself up to her full height. The five elders fell to their knees.

“My Lady Sun,” they murmured in unison.

“You may stand,” Nyota said uncertainly, parroting words she had clearly been taught mere days ago.

The five Azanians rose to their feet.

“Lady Sun, how may we serve you today?”

“By allowing me to speak the words of the Gods.”

The elders nodded in unison. T’Pring had begun to feel very uneasy.

A light clattering at the end of the hall drew her attention—another servant had come in wheeling a golden cart embellished with pink wrought-iron flowers. T’Pring felt Nyota begin to shiver beside her. The servant reached them and left the cart near Nyota before stepping respectfully to the side of the hall. She gave T’Pring an anxiously meaningful look when she didn’t follow, so T’Pring quickly joined her in the shadows and watched as the elders stepped off the podium, forming a circle around Nyota. Fear rose in her chest as one of them removed a light golden helmet from the cart and put it ceremoniously on Nyota’s head. It covered her eyes. Nyota’s shaking was now visible even at T’Pring’s distance.

The elders began to chant in a loud, lilting moan and for several minutes Nyota was silent. Very, very quietly, so that they would not be noticed amid the chanting, T’Pring whispered to the servant, “What did they put on her head?”

The woman looked sidelong at her and then raised her eyebrows. “Oh, right,” she whispered back. “You’re the new one, aren’t you? That’s the Crown of Seeing. It allows our Lady Sun to speak to the Gods and give us their words. That’s what they say, anyway.”

“You do not believe them?

The servant looked at her for a few moments as if deciding whether or not to trust her. But she seemed to want to indulge in gossip and so relented, apparently brimming with information to share. “It’s hard to when you serve in the elders’ household. We hear things, you know? They’ve been desperate for the arrival of our Lady Sun for _years_. The people are getting restless that the prophecy won’t come true, and they can’t let that happen, can they? Gotta always keep control with their myths and magic tricks. I don’t believe a word of it myself. Now rumor in the kitchens is this is some random girl they plucked off the street. A fruit seller and some housewives saw her touch the Pillar of Light in the market and they claim it moved. Nonsense, if you ask me.”

An ice-water chill went down T’Pring’s spine. She knew the precise incident this woman was referring to—on their initial survey of the planet, they had been standing in a sculpture garden in the town square when an ensign’s phaser had experienced a small power surge. Nyota had been running her fingers against a massive stone column with rudimentary carvings of the Azanian sun as the surge hit it, rattling it slightly in its foundation.

The ensign had quickly and discreetly explained what had happened and they had moved away from the area with an intentionally casual attitude so as not to attract attention, assuming that the Azanians would simply assume Nyota had jostled the statue. It was such a minor incident that no one had thought anything of it.

It was only a few hours later that Nyota had been abducted, and now T’Pring better understood why. An unfulfilled prophecy had promised the arrival of a spiritual figure, and then several individuals had witnessed Nyota move a statue, seemingly with only a light touch. The elders must have seized the opportunity.

Suddenly Nyota cried out and T’Pring’s gaze jerked back to her. She was bent over, and as T’Pring watched she began to scream in earnest. The elders’ chanting swelled to the high ceiling. Then Nyota snapped up until her spine was rigid, her muscles locking and trembling.

She began shouting in what T’Pring recognized as a dead dialect of Andorian. What possible purpose could Andorian serve in Azanian spirituality? The priests fell silent and dropped to their knees, holding up their hands in supplication as Nyota continued to babble, her voice taking on a hysterical edge. She cycled through Klingon and Orion, back to Andorian, and then to Vulcan. Though T’Pring could understand those words, at least, they were nonsense with no meaning she could discern.

Then, suddenly, the gibberish coalesced. “ _Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh!_ ”

_Remember, remember me, remember._

T’Pring heart stuttered, but before she could attempt to assign meaning to Nyota’s timely utterance of that phrase, Nyota cried out again and collapsed, the metal helmet clanging on the floor. The priests hurried to remove it and carefully place it back on the cart, but did not help Nyota in any way. T’Pring was frozen in horror.

“Go on then,” the other servant said sharply, bumping T’Pring with her shoulder. “See to her!”

Immensely relieved that this was apparently her responsibility, T’Pring rushed to Nyota, who was gasping against the restriction of her corset. Intending to carry her back to the relative safety of her chamber, T’Pring started to gather her up before realizing that it was probably too suspicious for someone as small as herself to carry a fully grown woman.

So she helped Nyota stand, an arm around her waist, holding Nyota’s arm slung over her own shoulders so that she could take most of her weight. Nyota was barely conscious, head rolling, tears on her cheeks. In this way T’Pring managed to get them out of the Hall. She looked back once to see the elders all watching them, eyes bright and hungry.

\---

Nyota was silent as T’Pring undressed her, eyelids drooping. She flopped naked onto the bed when they were finished, limbs so heavy that T’Pring didn’t even try to get a nightgown on her but simply dragged her gently up to her pillow and settled her under the blankets.

“Do you require anything?” she asked, stroking Nyota’s forehead. It was more than she had allowed herself to touch Nyota so far, but given the circumstances she did not have the willpower to resist. “Water, perhaps?”

Nyota nodded, so T’Pring procured a glass of water and helped her drink it before crawling into bed herself. Although it was barely the middle of the day, she found herself utterly exhausted.

“My Lady Sun?” she asked softly.

“Yes?” Nyota’s voice was weak and brittle.

“What happens when you are wearing that apparatus? What do you feel?”

It was cruel, perhaps, to question her so soon after the ordeal, but T’Pring needed to know what was being done to her beloved human. Needed to find a secluded closet and call the Captain, inform him.

“For a while it buzzes. Then it just hurts. Then it feels like my body’s on fire but I can’t move, and I say words I don’t understand. They say I’m channelling the Gods and that being so close to their power will always cause pain, and that I’m the only one who can withstand it.”

“Do you believe them?”

“I don’t know. The words are different every time, but the priests always make a new proclamation out of whatever I say. I don’t— ah!”

She clutched her forehead.

“What is it?” T’Pring asked in alarm.

“It still hurts sometimes… after… Can I go to sleep?”

“Of course,” T’Pring whispered. She would need to meditate and think, attempt to form a hypothesis about what precisely the Azanians were doing to Nyota. But for now she allowed herself to simply stroke Nyota’s hair and stare at her, reassuring herself of Nyota’s continued presence.

When she woke, Nyota could barely form a sentence. She was vague and confused, distressed. The effects of the procedure appeared to have set in completely. T’Pring went to the kitchen and had tea and cookies brought up; Nyota drank the tea, but T’Pring tried and failed to get her to eat the cookies for the rest of the evening.

As Nyota dozed, T’Pring scanned her periodically and let her mind spool off in the Vulcan autonomic processes that felt so out of place here. She glanced continually at Nyota, frowning in her sleep, fragile and so utterly reduced from the unbreakable woman T’Pring had fallen in love with.

Every once in a while, Nyota repeated the Vulcan phrase in her sleep.

_"Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh."_

T’Pring could not fathom the significance of it, who the “me” might refer to. But it was so eerily appropriate to the situation that she found herself whispering it back to Nyota’s restlessly slumbering form.

_Remember, remember me, remember._

\---

The elders asked for her again that night, and T’Pring delivered her to the Hall of Light with the stern face Lady Sun was becoming very familiar with. T’Pring didn't seem happy when she was told she couldn’t come in with her charge. Lady Sun caught sight of her obsidian eyes boring into her as the doors closed.

Lady Sun shared T'Pring's trepidation—she was terrified to face the elders without the strange, compelling woman. It was clear that T’Pring was not an especially experienced servant, but Lady Sun could not find it within herself to care. There was something about her that made Lady Sun feel grounded, a welcome sense of safety after so much disorienting time spent among the Gods.

She approached the elders anxiously; she was still unsteady on her feet from that morning’s session with the Crown of Seeing, and she didn’t think she could endure another one. Her thoughts drifted in and out of clarity, time seeming to slow one moment and accelerate another.

“My Lady Sun,” one of the priests said, as they all nodded at her. “We wished to speak to you regarding your accommodations and your new servant, and to ensure that you are satisfied.”

Their figures wobbled in her vision. She swayed and listed heavily to one side, her feet tangling as she tried not to fall. The priests smiled, paternalistic.

Her tongue was heavy and slow. “I’m satisfied,” she slurred. “I like T’Pring. She takes good care of me. She’s beautiful.”

A darkness drifted across the faces of the elders and they shared a glance between themselves.

“Sit, My Lady Sun,” another of them said, and they all lowered themselves into cross-legged poses. She followed clumsily, reaching out to steady herself on the floor.

“It is important, My Lady, that you be well-versed in the moral doctrines of the Gods. As you are somewhat… vague following your earlier discussion with our blessed divinities, we will instruct you in important doctrines and you will repeat us. Do you understand?”

She didn’t understand much of anything, but she thought she could manage to repeat after the elders. She nodded, hoping it didn’t matter that her eyelids were flickering and she could barely trap a thought in her head for more than few seconds.

The intoning, rhythmic voices of the elders began to wash over her. She tried to speak after them as she was supposed to, but the facts she was taking in were disjointed and fuzzy. Slowly, after what felt like hours and endless rounds of repetition, the doctrines began to sink in. She barely had time to congratulate herself, however, because exhaustion soon overcame her, until she was drooping toward the floor.

The last thing she knew was the firm grip of the priests transferring her into the much gentler hold of T’Pring’s strong arms.

\---

T’Pring paced furiously outside the Hall of Light. She half-heartedly attempted to practice mind techniques to control her panic, until the doors swung open and Nyota was shoved at her, all but collapsing into her arms. T’Pring decided she did not care if the Azanians knew she was considerably stronger than Nyota and lifted her up, carrying her back to the bedroom with no effort.


	3. Day Seven

“Have you ever been in love?”

T’Pring looked up from the Azanian plant samples she had been gathering and inspecting. They were walking in the manor’s expansive gardens and Nyota was trailing over the paths in her vague, discomfited way. After several attempts to start a conversation had failed, T’Pring had begun an informal scientific survey of the Azanian flora to pass the time.

Now Nyota had paused by a bush studded with silver flowers, staring dully into its leafy shadows.

“Why do you ask, My Lady?” T’Pring said carefully.

“I don’t know. I just… was thinking about it.”

“About love?”

“I guess.”

“Yes. I have been in love.”

Nyota looked at her. There was a searching confusion in her eyes, which T’Pring was starting to associate with moments when her memory was struggling to break through the fog.

T’Pring lifted her elbow automatically—the temptation and need to touch Nyota was overwhelming. Nyota took hold of her instantly, long fingers curling in the crook of T’Pring’s arm. They walked in silence for a few moments.

“What was his name?” Nyota said eventually.

“Whose, My Lady Sun?”

“The man you were in love with.”

T’Pring looked sideways at Nyota, amused. “What makes you assume it was a man?”

Nyota gasped. When T’Pring looked at her, she found her face contorted into a deeply scandalized expression. All of T’Pring’s amusement faded. Here was a woman whose confidence in her attractions had always been so unbreakable, so basic. A woman who laughed when someone assumed she was heterosexual, who always cheerfully and firmly corrected anyone who called T’Pring her friend. A woman with an almost supernatural ability to appear out of nowhere when someone identified T’Pring as Spock’s wife, an unpleasant occurrence that happened often simply because they were a Vulcan male and female living among humans and spending a significant amount of time together.

But Nyota would so often arrive at just the right moment to offer a correction: “Oh, no—she’s _my_ girlfriend,” the pride in her voice invariably sending a thrill down T’Pring’s spine. Sometimes, depending on her mood, she would point at Spock and add, “He’s as gay as the day is long.” And Spock would roll his eyes, T’Pring would stifle a smile, the unfortunate individual being corrected would gawp awkwardly, and Nyota would laugh and laugh and laugh, bright and unashamed.

“I am in love with a woman,” T’Pring said firmly. “A beautiful, intelligent woman.”

Nyota looked away, embarrassed. “The elders say that is not appropriate. A few days ago they helped me memorize morality doctrines. They put a special emphasis on that one.”

Ten days. _Ten days_ they had had control of Nyota and they had already shamed her for her attraction to women. T’Pring fought to suppress the urge to explode in anger, to defend Nyota’s orientation to… Nyota herself.

No. That would be pointless.

"I disagree with the elders,” T’Pring said. “Attraction is inherent. Homsexuality cannot be controlled or changed.”

Not wanting to give Nyota a chance to respond, wanting her to simply hear T’Pring and reflect on her words, T’Pring went on.

“And you, My Lady Sun? Have you ever been in love?”

Nyota’s brow furrowed. “I think so…” she said softly. “I remember a man, but not very well. I don’t know why I can’t remember.”

“What _do_ you remember?” T’Pring prompted, trying to determine if this memory was real or implanted by the Azanians.

“He was… tall, I think. Black hair… really black. He was smart and serious and I was… infatuated. I think I was young. I think we stopped loving each other… or maybe we _never_ loved each other, not really.”

Spock. A real memory, then. T’Pring experienced a flicker of hurt that Nyota did not remember her in this moment, overshadowed immediately by outrage that the Azanians had probably put special effort into suppressing Nyota’s memories of her female lover.

And anyway, T’Pring couldn’t help but think that the Vulcan phrase Nyota kept repeating was somehow related to Nyota trying to remember her. Perhaps that was, as the humans said, “wishful thinking,” but perhaps not.

“What happened to him?” T’Pring encouraged, pushing her to remember more.

“He fell in love with someone else. Golden hair… blue eyes… in charge of… something. In charge of me, somehow... She must have been someone important.”

Jim. “Are you sure it was a woman?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Nyota said, looking sidelong at her. “It must have been.”

But her fingers tightened around T’Pring’s arm.

They lapsed into silence. Eventually Nyota asked, very quietly, “Why aren’t you still with the woman you love?”

T’Pring looked hard at her, wishing illogically that she could will her to remember. She noticed that Nyota was staring at the ground, brow wrinkled in sadness and also, perhaps, jealousy. But T’Pring was no objective judge; it was quite possible that she imagined the emotion she wanted to see. “She was taken from me. By those who wanted to hurt her.”

Nyota looked up, her eyes so helpless and confused. She was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. Will she be alright?”

“I do not know yet.”

Nyota stopped walking to look at a pot full of bright flowers. She was clinging even harder to T’Pring’s arm, and was clearly trying to gather herself. “I hope she will be.” Her voice was rough, bittersweet.

“As do I.”

Nyota plucked one flower, a particularly electric shade of green with a pink stem.

“For you,” she said simply, holding it out.

Surprised, T’Pring took the flower. “Thank you, My Lady Sun.”

Nyota nodded, but her eyes had clouded over again. They resumed their walk.

\---

Late that night, after Nyota was soundly asleep, T’Pring crept from the bedroom in her socks, holding her small scanner. The hallways were dark, the extravagant decorations reduced to looming shadows.

She was searching for electrical signatures of the disrupter which had prevented the _Enterprise_ from beaming Nyota aboard. She had done so for the past five nights as well, with no success: the Azanians’ mismatched technology made it extremely difficult to isolate any one signature. But they could not beam off the planet unless T’Pring disabled the disruptor, so she resumed her methodical search of the winding hallways and seemingly endless rooms.

Tonight, however, a fairly constant source of energy drew her attention to a small side-chamber off the Hall of Light. She was especially careful to ensure that no priests were nearby conducting late-night worship, but when she was satisfied that she was truly alone, she crept into the room, scanner whirring.

The energy, she saw immediately, came from a force-field surrounding a ceremonial altar on which an object was placed. She drew nearer, squinting to see through the blue light of the electronic barrier. On the altar rested what, upon closer inspection, T’Pring recognized as a very old PADD, the model perhaps a century old. A Starfleet insignia was clearly visible at the top. T’Pring took a sharp breath.

Here, then, was the source of the contamination. Whatever was contained on that PADD had almost certainly led the Azanians to adopt a very specific Earth-like society.

T’Pring scanned the force-field more thoroughly; it was basic and she disabled it fairly easily. She picked up the PADD with unusually tentative hands and turned it on. It was unclear how the Azanians had continued to power it for all this time, but it flared to life instantly. The home screen was labeled “Enterprise (NX-01).”

Well, then. Admiral Archer would be hearing about this.

There were few publicly accessible files on the PADD; most required a now-defunct style of Starfleet login. What T’Pring did find were five files in the personal entertainment application: four Terran documentaries and one graphic novel. All were, predictably, focused upon the Rococo period of Earth’s history.

T’Pring closed her eyes and sighed. How easy it was to break the Prime Directive, even unknowingly. Some time in the past, a presumably young officer with a taste for obscure Earth history had simply dropped a PADD. Humans dropped things constantly; it was by no means unexpected. But the far-reaching consequences were dire, and had resulted in Nyota’s capture and torment.

It was glaring, unavoidable proof of why T’Pring had to proceed so carefully with this mission, why she could not tell Nyota the entire truth. She was meddling in another culture’s religion now; she could not cause their spiritual figurehead to disappear without explanation. Nor could she risk Nyota, brainwashed and confused, becoming overwhelmed and confessing what T’Pring might tell her to the priests.

Unable to watch the documentaries for risk of being overheard, T’Pring took note of their names and then inspected the graphic novel, entitled _Daughter of the Sun_. It appeared to be a fictionalized account of a woman living in 18th-century Europe who one day became aware that she was in fact some kind of magical sun creature. The story was accompanied by exaggerated illustrations of women in wigs and voluminous dresses, against backdrops of period architecture and decoration. It was low-brow historical fiction of the supernatural variety, diverting but hardly accurate to actual events. It had clearly, however, formed the basis of Azanian spirituality.

T’Pring flipped through quickly; she could not risk much more time here tonight. She was about to power down the PADD when the last images of the comic caught her eye.

A cold, paralyzing chill went through her. On the last page, surrounded by orange-robed priests, the main character of the story—the magical sun woman—lay broken and lifeless upon a podium, in a light-filled hall with a glass ceiling.

The text read, “And so with the sacrifice of her life, Lady Sun restored peace and balance to the people. Forever was their spiritual knowledge deep and sweet and, after a life of toil, Our Lady Sun was finally able to lay down her head in rest.”

T’Pring stood frozen, staring at the garishly colored panel for an unmeasured amount of time. She stayed there until a far-off noise made her jump, and then hastened to turn off the PADD, replace it on the altar, and restore the force-field.

She crept away down the hall, scanning again for the disruptor although her thoughts were as far away as they could be. Finally, unable to focus, she leaned in a dark corner and messaged Spock from her communicator.

“Please research a graphic novel produced on Earth, potentially popular in the 22nd century, entitled _Daughter of the Sun_. I believe this to be the source of the Azanain contamination, as well as the following documentary films.”

She listed the names of the films and slipped her communicator back into her pocket. Was this the eventual plan of the Azanian elders? To sacrifice Nyota for the good of the people? How long did they have? How could she possibly keep Nyota safe?

T’Pring shook herself. Distressing as this information was, she was still a Vulcan. She could not allow her fear to derail her, nor could she surrender to the emotional compromise of loving a human, at least not at this moment. She took a breath, steadied her mind, and resumed her scanning.

3 hours and 42 minutes later, she had returned to the floor where she and Nyota slept, drawn back to another potentially promising surge of energy. But she had barely begun looking when a long, terrible scream came down the hall.

Nyota.

T’Pring took off running toward their room as Nyota’s screams continued to echo against the walls. Several other servants were hurrying there as well, but T’Pring threw up her hand and barked, “I will see to her!” before shoving open the heavy door and closing it behind her.

Nyota was sitting up, hands clutching the blanket, still screaming. T’Pring flew onto the bed, pulling the terrified human into her arms and tucking her chin against Nyota’s head. Nyota’s grasping hands found their way to T’Pring and clung to her, her screams tapering off into desperate sobs.

“Shh,” T’Pring soothed, “You are safe. I am here. It was only a dream.”

She rocked her until Nyota calmed somewhat, enough to whimper, “Where were you?”

“I was…” T’Pring tried to think of a suitable falsehood. “I was looking for something to eat. I am sorry you were frightened and I was not here.”

Nyota was starting to sag against her, so T’Pring laid them back against the pillows and Nyota settled onto her chest, breath still heaving.

T’Pring stroked Nyota’s hair. “Do you wish to tell me what you can remember of your nightmare?” she asked eventually.

“No! I don’t want to think about it.”

“Very well.”

After several more long minutes of silence, Nyota said, “Why do you feel so safe when I don’t even know you? Why does this feel… familiar? This isn’t natural.”

“There is nothing unnatural about it. We are simply… well-suited to each other.”

Nyota was silent for so long that T’Pring suspected she had fallen asleep, but then she whispered, “Tell me about the woman. The one that you love. What’s her name?”

“Her name is Nyota.”

Nyota went very still and pressed slightly closer to T’Pring.

“Will you tell me more? Please?”

“She… speaks many languages. She renders it possible for individuals with different native languages to speak to each other. She is unfailingly brave. She is protective of her friends. She laughs very easily. Her laugh is loud and… bright, and one of the sounds I treasure most. She…”

But Nyota had fallen asleep against her.

\---

_She didn’t know where she was. There were voices nearby, whispering and urgent. She could barely move and she felt woozy, like maybe she’d been dosed with something._

_She managed to lift a heavy hand to her belt but found it empty of both phaser and communicator. Why hadn’t they beamed her out yet? There was one person in particular who would be freaking out right now… why couldn’t she remember her name? She panicked as she tried to remember details that dissolved when she got close, like dreams she couldn’t quite remember._

_The whispering voices grew louder, as if the conversants were approaching her._

_“Should we put the Crown on again?”_

_“Give her a bit more time, we can’t risk losing her yet.”_

_“How long do you think we can keep her alive?”_

_“A year, hopefully. But maybe only a few months, who knows how her species will tolerate it. We’ll have to make the decrees worth it from the start.”_

_“Do you think she really moved the pillar?”_

_“No. It was probably something to do with the technology we took off her. No way she moved it just by touching it.”_

_There was a long pause, and then one of the voices turned sorrowful._

_“None of it was ever real, was it?”_

_“Almost certainly not. But the people still believe, and that’s all that matters. As long as they believe, they’ll heed us. Pull yourself together.”_

_Another few minutes passed in silence before she heard one of them say, “Let’s put it on her again.”_

_There was quite suddenly a face above her, snow-white and surrounded by squirming tentacles._

_“She’s awake. Better hurry.”_

_Another tentacle-headed figure appeared, holding a golden helmet. Then her arms were grabbed and she was jerked into a sitting position._

_“No!” she shouted, finding her voice slow and clumsy. “You’re assaulting a… fed… a federal… a federa…tion officer. Let me go!”_

_The aliens chuckled. She fought against the grip holding her, but it was strong and she was weak._

_There was something she was supposed to say now, her name… her…. rank… a number…”_

_“My name is Nyota Uhura, Lieutenant, serial number…”_

_But she couldn’t remember._

_“We don’t care who you are, girl,” one the aliens said disdainfully. “You’re going to be exactly who we need you to be.”_

_He put the helmet on her head and even though she thrashed, shaking her head, he held it on. A buzz went through her and then, shocking and paralyzing, an unimaginable pain. She screamed, incapable of fighting now. It seemed like her very brain was being rooted through, jumbled._

_A voice, then, in her mind—T’Pring! It was T’Pring who would be desperate to get her back!_

_“_ Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh! _” T’Pring said urgently._

_Remember me? How could Nyota ever forget the woman she loved?_

_A horrible, horrible jolt of pain went through her, silencing the voice… Who had been talking to her? She had said something important but she couldn’t remember now…_

_The pain spiked again and she screamed and screamed until everything went black._


	4. Day Nine

Since her second day on Eri Azan III, T’Pring had risen three hours before Nyota to meditate, bathe, and lay out Nyota’s clothes. They were peaceful mornings that she sometimes caught herself enjoying, before she remembered why they were here.

She still thought the bathtub was illogical but she could not deny that it offered a pleasant experience: it was deep and curved nicely against her body. The water was perfectly warm and submerging herself in it was a luxury not available on the _Enterprise_.

This morning, however, she had slept later than she meant to. The bed was very warm, and a different servant came in every morning at dawn to light the fire. It was a combination not conducive to waking up, but she was a Vulcan. She was, albeit, a very cold and distressed Vulcan, but still. She should have been able to better regulate herself.

Nyota had been especially restless the previous night, shivering and whimpering in her sleep, trapped in her nightmares. She had continued to repeat the now-familiar Vulcan words, and T’Pring had whispered them back, stroking her hair until she calmed.

But Nyota was deeply asleep now, and she did not usually wake until T’Pring gently rubbed a hand over arm until her eyelids fluttered open. Her face would soften in a sleepy smile, and T’Pring would experience a flare of hope that her memory had returned, but invariably the fog would blow back into her eyes.

Confident that Nyota wouldn’t wake, T’Pring resolved to take a short bath even though she had little time. She was just so very cold; she could gather Nyota’s clothes after she got up.

As the bath filled, T’Pring removed her bonnet with relief, running her fingers through her hair and massaging her scalp. 

She sank into the water, sighing as the tingle of being so suddenly warm ran through her. She thought about how strange it was that she had to hide her hair and ears from Nyota; she loved those parts of T’Pring’s body especially.

T’Pring stayed in the bath perhaps too long. As she was standing on the cold tile brushing her hair, she became aware of noise in the bedroom; it appeared that Nyota had woken on her own after all. T’Pring hastily cast around for her bonnet, finding it and throwing it over her wet hair just as the door opened.

Nyota gasped. T’Pring realized belatedly that she was naked except for the bonnet.

Not really knowing what to say, she awkwardly murmured, “My Lady Sun.”

Nyota was staring at her, specifically at her breasts. Her eyes were wide and full of something that T’Pring couldn’t quite discern. T’Pring reached for her robe and put it on perhaps more slowly than she needed to. Nyota finally remembered to look away.

“I— I’m so sorry, T’Pring. I didn’t— I thought you were drawing my bath, I didn’t realize...”

“There is no need to apologize,” T’Pring assured her when she trailed off. “Allow me to start the bath for you.”

They proceeded with their morning routine in awkward silence. In fact, they did not speak again until T’Pring had completely dressed Nyota and resecured her wig. She had left Nyota sitting at her vanity and was neatening the bedroom when she heard Nyota’s quiet whisper: “What does kissing a woman feel like?”

T’Pring froze. Nyota was resolutely not looking at her.

“It…” T’Pring trailed off. “It is difficult to explain without a common frame of reference.”`

“Oh.”

Silence again. T’Pring tentatively resumed her task.

“Will, um. Will you kiss me then? So I have a… a… what did you call it? Common phrase of…”

“Common frame of reference,” T’Pring corrected gently.

“Yes, that.”

“Of course I will kiss you.”

Nyota looked at her in surprise, perhaps expecting more resistance. But T’Pring thought a consensual kiss was a promising action that could perhaps be a blow to Nyota’s confusion.

“Your lover won’t mind? Nyota?”

T’Pring had always been confused by the human desire to laugh when circumstances were simultaneously upsetting and absurd, but suddenly she understood it completely.

“No. She will not mind,” she said, hoping Nyota would not ask for further explanation.

She did not; she simply stood up, hands wringing and eyes peeking shyly from under her lashes. T’Pring could not help but smile at her just slightly. Nyota grinned back, perhaps the first true smile T’Pring had seen from her.

“You never smile. You look pretty like that.”

“Thank you.”

“I thought maybe… I was annoying you.”

“Certainly not.” T’Pring crossed to her and took her hands. “It is… simply my nature to refrain from facial expressions. You do not annoy me in any way. In fact, I would very much like to show you how alluring and pleasing I find you.”

She raised one hand and rested moth-light fingers on Nyota’s cheek. Nyota’s breath hitched and T’Pring brought their mouths together, slipping the tip of her tongue just past Nyota’s lips. It was such an automatic action for her by now, so thoughtless, but no less thrilling.

She pressed their lips a little closer, pushed her tongue forward. Nyota was melting in her arms, sighing little whimpers into T’Pring’s mouth. T’Pring slid her arm around Nyota’s waist to pull her against her, but suddenly Nyota broke away, and T’Pring realized her breath was heaving to an alarming degree.

“I— I can’t breathe!” she gasped desperately. “M— my corset! Please, I can’t—”

T’Pring rushed around her to undo the back of her dress and start pulling at her corset laces, freeing her from the confining garment as efficiently as possible. Nyota continued to gasp and clutch her chest until at last T’Pring wrenched the two sides of the corset apart and she was finally able to suck in a deep breath.

She stood panting, clothes half-off and askew. She cast an embarassed look at T’Pring.

“What happened, My Lady?” T’Pring asked, her own breath quick and tight.

“I just— that kiss felt— so nice and it made me all… warm and I… it was really… intense and then suddenly I couldn’t breathe.”

T’Pring laughed. Nyota’s eyes widened in shock but T’Pring couldn’t stop. The swing from hopeful arousal to outright fear and back again was simply too much for her. She clamped her hands over her mouth but couldn’t stop, and eventually Nyota’s lips turned up and then she was laughing too, giggling shyly and then laughing outright. They stood across from each other, bent over and giddy with laughter. The warm sound of Nyota’s laugh filled T’Pring to the brim with such extravagant delight.

When their laughter had bubbled down to intermittent giggling, Nyota whispered, “Your laugh is beautiful.”

“It is only for you,” T’Pring said honestly.

Unformed and undefined energy hovered between them. Their established regard was steering them, but through an unfamiliar landscape.

“I don’t know why I’m drawn to you like this,” Nyota said somewhat helplessly. T’Pring had no answer, could only smile again in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Will you kiss me again?”

T’Pring rushed to her, wrapped her arms around her skinny waist and pressed her close. Nyota gasped, but with her restrictive clothes hanging open around her chest, she did not lose her breath entirely. T’Pring let her lips hover over Nyota’s.

“Always.”

\---

In the deep of the night, after yet another unsuccessful search for the disrupter, T’Pring located a closet in an especially quiet corridor.

She arranged herself on the floor, took a deep breath, and withdrew her communicator from her pocket.

“T’Pring to Enterprise,” she said, as quietly as she could while still being audible.

“T’Pring!” Jim’s response was nearly immediate. “Are you ok? How’s Uhura? We’re about to leave Antares, do you think you’ll be—”

“Jim.” Spock’s voice cut across the Captain’s rambling. “Let her speak.”

“Sorry. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“The situation here is complex, but I will try to summarize it as concisely as possible. Lieutenant Uhura is not only suffering amnesia, but is also confused and experiencing a reduction in cognitive ability. I believe the cause of this to be something the Azanian priests are subjecting her to, but I do not have enough data to identify its precise nature. What I have observed is the elders forcing Lieutenant Uhura to wear some kind of helmet which causes her excruciating pain and then forces her to speak nonsense in various alien languages. The priests have told her that during these experiences she is talking to their Gods. Based on rumors I have gleaned from manor staff, I theorize that the priests do not actually believe there is any purpose to this ritual and are simply using it to keep Nyota complacent and to ensure the servitude of their flock by presenting them with a figurehead who is supposedly communicating with divinities. They claim to translate her messages, but simply use them to pass edicts and set rules which benefit them.”

“Damn,” Jim said softly. “Well, we’ve had a close look at those documentaries and _Daughter of the Sun_. We think the graphic novel is pretty much the sole basis of the spiritual stuff and that they figured out the aesthetic and customs from the documentaries. It sounds like they’ve twisted it all to make a religion they can control their people with. The story is definitely what made them take Uhura; it starts with that magical sun girl appearing and helping a group of priests who had been prophesying her arrival. Pretty sure the Azanians were waiting for the same prophecy to be fulfilled for them.”

T’Pring took a deep breath. “I have not read the story more closely; I do not want to risk being found. I was not able to ascertain… In your opinion, having read it… Are they going to kill her?”

It was Spock who answered. “I do not believe they are actively attempting to murder her. In the story, the Lady Sun communicates with spiritual entities through a magical helmet that allows her to speak their language. It is physically taxing to her and eventually her body cannot withstand the ritual, resulting in her death. My rough hypothesis, tentatively including the new information you have provided, is that the Azanians developed an apparatus to emulate that in the story, and that is what they are now using to torture Nyota. It is likely a coincidence that it is tapping into the language centers of her brain and causing her to speak a variety of dialects; in the story she merely speaks gibberish which priests must interpret, like a sort of code.

“It does seem, however, that their ritual is as dangerous as the one in the story, if not more so. It is imperative she undergo as few of these so-called communication sessions as possible.”

Struggling to keep her anxiety under control, T’Pring said, “I will do what I can, although I must not draw the attention of the priests by interfering with their practices.”

“Definitely,” said Jim. “We’ll be there in 7 days, just do your best until then. Have you had any success in drawing out her memories?”

“Her mind is certainly fighting against the effects of the procedure—she has noticeably responded to both my name and her own, as well as other pieces of information I have been gradually introducing. But she has shown no indication of knowing the significance of anything that jogs her memory, and her confusion always returns almost immediately.”

Spock’s voice then. “Has she shown any romantic interest in you? Has she been drawn to you based on buried attractions?”

“Yeah, have you fucked her?”

“ _Jim_.”

“ _What?_ If it was you and me in this situation and I had to try to make you remember me, getting you into bed would be my main goal!”

“Ah yes, a goal totally different from all other situations in your life.”

Knowing this could go on indefinitely, T’Pring cut over them. “She has indeed shown an attraction to me, but the elders have managed to convince her that homosexuality is morally wrong, and she is clearly uncomfortable with this attraction.”

“Fucking assholes.”

“Indeed. She is, however, exhibiting progress. She has repeatedly expressed feeling drawn to me in a way she does not understand, and today she asked me to kiss her. I did and she responded… favorably.”

Spock spoke before Jim could react. “Given your new data, do you think it would be unwise to simply tell her the truth of her life?”

“Yes. She is utterly confused and, frankly, frightened. I worry that telling her everything would cause her to lose trust in me. Additionally, if she confesses anything I tell her to the priests, the Prime Directive will again be broken. The risk of that increases if I lose her faith and she turns instead to the spiritual elders. I believe it will be more efficacious to continue implanting the stirrings of doubt within her through small actions.”

“Ok, that’s good,” Jim said. “Keep going with that and like. Try having sex with her.”

“ _Jim!_ ”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant. How about the disruptor?”

“I have not yet located it. I am searching every night, but experiencing significant interference from the Azanian technology. I am slowly narrowing the possible area where I believe it to be, so I am hopeful that I will find it soon.”

“Good work. Are you holding up ok?”

“I am… I am in control of myself.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Jim, they are torturing her.”

Spock’s voice, soft and concerned. “Have you determined whether or not there will be lasting damage?”

“I have no way of knowing. Nor do I have any method of assessing whether we will be able to restore her memories even if we manage to return to the ship.”

“You _will_ return to the ship,” Jim said firmly. “We’ll protect the Prime Directive as long as possible, but we’ll do what we have to do. Just hang in there, T’Pring, ok?”

“I will attempt to.”

They exchanged a few more logistical details before signing off. T’Pring let her head fall back against the wall and her eyes fall heavily shut. Dealing with Jim and Spock was exhausting when she could not complain to Nyota about them after.


	5. Day Eleven

_She always heard those same words at the end of each session with the Crown of Seeing._

__Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh. __

_The words replayed in her dreams, pattered in her waking consciousness, drifted in a like a song she couldn’t stop singing._

_She dreamed the words again that night, but now it was the faceless woman from her memories saying them. She was fuzzy, indistinct, her heartbeat voice nearly inaudible, but clear enough._ Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh _._

_Then her face began to sharpen. It snapped in and out of focus until, suddenly, it blurred with T’Pring’s._

Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh.

_She could feel the burn where their mouths had touched, but she couldn’t remember if that had happened in the dream or out of it._

\---

T’Pring woke up to Nyota kissing her lightly on the cheek, smiling when T’Pring’s eyes opened.

“Good morning,” T’Pring said.

“Hello. I kissed you while you were sleeping, is that alright?”

T’Pring put her hand on Nyota’s cheek, pretending for just a moment that they were in bed on the _Enterprise_ , flirting in ship’s dawn before T’Pring would rise and go to the labs.

“You may kiss me whenever you want.”

Nyota smiled shyly, the light from the Azanian sun shifting behind her.

By the time T’Pring was dressing her, however, Nyota’s soft, sweet mood had faded. She appeared not only vague and disoriented, but also anxious, her brow wrinkled.

“Are you alright, My Lady Sun?” T’Pring asked, hoping Nyota was not starting to feel guilty for their homosexual dalliances.

“The elders will ask for me again today,” she admitted quietly.

“Ah.” T’Pring sighed and rested her hands on Nyota’s shoulders for a moment. There was nothing really to say in comfort, so she said nothing.

In the end, Nyota was right—the elders did call for her. T’Pring brought her down to The Hall of Light and, before either of them was ready, they found themselves yet again before the priests. T'Pring stood at Nyota's side and did not drift immediately into the shadows, her protectiveness rooting her in place.

“Lady Sun, how may we serve you today?”

Nyota did not answer immediately, and the clatter of the servant woman wheeling the golden cart echoed suddenly into the silence.

“I do not want to speak to the Gods today.”

The clattering stopped. A few of the elders took a sharp breath in unison. T’Pring looked up at Nyota and found her face steely despite the obvious quivering of her muscles.

One of the elders stepped off the podium, approaching Nyota with what was probably supposed to be supplication but was actually obvious aggression.

“My Lady Sun. Surely you do not wish to offend the Gods.”

“I am not prepared to endure the pain caused by speaking to them. Surely as loving Gods they don’t want to see me suffer.”

“The pain you experience is not suffering, My Lady Sun, as we have told you before. It is the exquisite agony of being in the presence of the divine.”

“I am not strong enough for it today.”

There was an ominous, ringing silence.

Suddenly one of the elders grabbed the helmet and charged at Nyota, attempting to force it onto her head. T’Pring automatically stepped between them, knocking the helmet out of his hands in the same moment that Nyota, refusing to step back, shouted, “No!”

The elders stared at them in fury, the clattering of the helmet echoing in the chamber. As one, their gazes turned to T’Pring. She may have been on an unfamiliar world, wearing a frilly bonnet over her ears, but T’Pring was not intimidated. She had faced greater trials than this, and there were few limits to what she would do to protect Nyota. She drew herself up to her full height, meeting the alien rage in the eyes of the Azanians.

“Don’t look at her!”

Nyota’s voice took them all by surprise. She was shaking, but some of the steel confidence T’Pring was used to had slipped back in her face. There was a flame in her eyes, an anger trying to break through. Somehow, in her corset and voluminous skirt, adorned all over with bows, Nyota looked imposing, terrifying.

“You will address _me_ when I speak to you. I am the conduit of the Gods and you will treat me with respect. I will not undergo the ritual today. Come, T’Pring.”

She swept toward the doors and, with one last glance at the shocked elders, T’Pring followed.

They were silent as they rushed through the hallways and stairwells. There was a crackling fear between them, powerful but unspoken. It was only once they had entered the privacy of Nyota’s bedroom that they deflated, Nyota clutching her chest and curling in on herself.

“Why did you do that, My Lady?” T’Pring asked eventually. “You know there will be dire consequences.”

“I couldn’t take it again. I just… couldn’t do it. And I feel, somehow, like I shouldn’t let anyone tell me what to do. I think, a long time ago, I never let anyone control me like that.”

“I am proud of you. To be brave in the midst of what is happening to you is remarkable.”

Nyota sat on the edge of the bed, scrunching her eyes shut. “It’ll only make things worse. I should have just talked to the Gods like I was supposed to. They’ll punish me for it somehow.”

T’Pring crawled into bed behind Nyota and started undressing her. “I suspect you are right, but we will do what we can to mitigate their retribution.”

Nyota was silent as she let T’Pring undress her. When she was sitting in her nightgown and T’Pring was brushing her hair, rubbing away the soreness the wig always left in Nyota’s scalp, Nyota said quietly, “Why do you always leave your bonnet on?”

T’Pring stilled. “As I told you, My Lady, my ears become cold easily.”

“No. There’s something else. Something you’re hiding.” She turned around, staring T’Pring down. “I order you to take it off.”

T’Pring could see that she was unsettled and frightened but, without the daze forced upon her by the Azanian apparatus, bolder.

Perhaps it was an optimum time to reveal more to Nyota than she had been previously willing to. She was, after all, unusually lucid.

T’Pring undid the tie on her bonnet and let it fall away. Her hair spilled out over her shoulders, long and as black as Nyota’s. Everyone always said they made such a _beautiful_ couple. T’Pring was suddenly overwhelmed by her ache for the illogical humans on the _Enterprise_ , for the haven of Spock’s logical friendship, the snapping flame of Nyota’s unassaulted mind.

Nyota was staring at her, but there was almost no shock in her eyes. “You have hair, like me. But your ears are… different.”

Still, she didn’t sound surprised, much to T’Pring’s confusion. Nyota reached up to touch T’Pring’s ear, trace its angular lines.

“What _are_ you?”

“I am a Vulcan. An... extraterrestrial.” She hoped that the reference to Terra might snag in Nyota’s mind. “Do you know what that means?”

“An alien.”

“Yes. As you are an alien on this planet. Are you aware of that?”

“I mean, I know I’m different. They told me… I come from the land of the Gods.”

“Do you think you come from the land of the Gods?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe I come from… somewhere else. I don’t know where, but not here.”

T’Pring noded. “That sounds… logical.”

“But I remember things… growing up here, learning about the Gods… I remember. Not very well, but I do.”

T’Pring was silent, letting Nyota’s mind work.

“But I remember other things, too. Things that don’t make sense. Things that don’t… well they just _feel_ like they’re memories from other places, not from here.”

“Do you have memories from childhood about your appearance?” T’Pring prompted. “Do you remember an explanation for your differences coming from anyone other than the priests?”

“No! That’s the thing. If I come from the land of the Gods, wouldn’t someone have known that I was the Lady Sun earlier? Before I moved the Pillar?”

“One would think so.”

“And... and all the other things. I dream about… well I dream about a woman. I _miss_ her but I can’t quite remember her. But she feels real. I feel... _thing_ s for her that the priests say I shouldn’t.” She glanced up at T’Pring as if to gauge her reaction. T’Pring kept her face carefully blank, but a thrill went through her.

Nyota went on. “She… she looks like… she reminds me of…” but she shook her head and looked away, too embarrassed to confess that, T’Pring assumed, she was in fact dreaming of T’Pring herself.

“Anyway, do you remember the man I told you about? The black-haired one? He had pointed ears like you. I didn’t tell you that because I thought you might think I was crazy. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Was he a Vulcan, as I am?”

“I don’t know. And it _was_ a man he fell in love with. I remember now. That man was… infuriating. But then I came to love him, I think. Not as a lover. As a friend. I loved him, and I can’t remember his name, or his face. Only his eyes, and that he loved the black-haired man in a way I never could. That there was something… special between them.

“The elders aren’t… kind. They aren’t good. I want to believe them… I can remember everything they say, everything about the Gods, and the doctrines, the Lady Sun. But those memories feel… _too_ clear. Everything else is fuzzy. It’ll start to get clearer, but then the elders make me use the Crown of Seeing again and I forget everything. I don’t… I just don’t trust them. I don’t think I’m who they say I am.”

Nyota was beginning to look exhausted, and T’Pring doubted she would retain her lucidity for much longer. T’Pring felt a sudden urgency to seize this moment. It was logical to change one’s plans upon a change of circumstances, and because Nyota had refused the Azanian’s torture today, she was potentially more able to receive the truth than she had ever been during their stay on this ridiculous planet.

“I know who they are,” T’Pring said, feeling unprepared and clumsy, an unpleasant combination for any Vulcan. “The men you speak of. And I know who you are.”

Nyota looked hard at her. T’Pring went on before she could logic herself out of her somewhat reckless plan.

“The man you once loved, who has pointed ears like me, is called Spock. He is indeed a Vulcan, and I have known him since childhood. The man he fell in love with is Jim Kirk. They run a spaceship together called the _Enterprise_. I serve on this ship as a science officer. I came aboard three years and two months ago, at Spock’s recommendation. After my appointment, I fell in love with a human girl, Nyota, whom I have told you about. Does any of this sound familiar, My Lady?”

Nyota’s nostrils flared. “No,” she said, too quickly.

“Yes it does,” T’Pring insisted. “It sounds familiar because _you_ are that woman. Some part of you knows that, does it not? The Azanians have tried to take all of this from you, steal your memories of your friends, your ship, and of me. But you are trying so hard to remember, Nyota, I can see that you are. You are _strong, ashayam_. Please, listen and believe me. Your name is Nyota Uhura, you are human, you were born in Kitui Province in Kenya, on the planet Earth. You joined Starfleet when you were 18 years old. You fell in love with your professor and, through a confluence of circumstances, joined him aboard Starfleet’s flagship, the starship _Enterprise_.

"You did not stay involved with him, and he fell in love with our captain, Captain James Tiberius Kirk. They are obnoxious and besotted and they constantly test our patience and they are our closest friends. Spock brought me aboard and you and I were drawn instantly to each other, irresistibly, uncontrollably. You unwound my logic, you bewitched me, you showed me why emotion is worth fighting for.

“You have only been on this planet for 15 days. The Azanians have been using that horrific apparatus to erase your memories, implant others, and generally keep you confused. You are an officer of Starfleet, committed to the peaceful ideals of the Federation of Planets, you are _my lover_. Try to remember, Nyota, please. Come back to me.”

Nyota stared at her, long and hard. There was such a yearning in her eyes, such a desperate, untranslated need.

But then she looked away and shook her head angrily. “Why are you doing this, T’Pring? I thought you were different.”

“Nyota—”

“Don’t _call_ me that! Spaceships, aliens, all of these _queers_ —how is anything you’re saying more believable than what the elders tell me? Why does everyone lie to me? I won’t listen anymore, not to them, not even to you!”

She scurried off the bed, nearly overbalancing, trying to put distance between herself and T’Pring. Panic shivered down T’Pring’s spine, across the exhausted synapses of her usually well-controlled brain.

“No, please, I am telling you the _truth_ , please—”

“Go away,” Nyota hissed. “Go somewhere else, I need— I just need to be alone.” 

T’Pring took a deep breath. “I will respect your wishes. But I must _implore_ you: do not repeat what I have told you to the elders or to another servant. The religion they claim to shepherd, the spiritual role they have assigned you, none of it is real. It is built upon a story created on Earth, a copy of which was left on this planet by accident a century ago. The elders have built all of this around its message. Its _fictional_ message. 

“If you reveal what I am, what _you_ are, to the people of the planet, its culture will be further contaminated by outside influences. Where we come from, this is considered a great moral injustice. I am sorry to ask this of you, but I beg of you. Do not let it filter into the minds of these people, especially the servants, that you are not the Lady Sun.” 

“I _am_ the Lady Sun!” Nyota shouted, and then, when T’Pring didn’t move, “GO!” 

T’Pring got slowly off the bed, moving automatically toward the door. She paused there, not looking at Nyota. “Please remember,” she whispered and then, on a sudden whim, “ _Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh_.” 

Nyota’s eyes went wide and T’Pring slipped into the hallway. 


	6. Day Twelve

T’Pring did not sleep that night, but rather searched desperately for the disruptor, with no success. She frantically called Captain Kirk and explained the setback, but refused to answer his questions about Nyota, claiming she did not have time for anything but seeking the disruptor. It was not _entirely_ dishonest.

In the morning, she knocked lightly on Nyota’s door, but received no answer. She tried again, and finally the door opened to reveal Mrs. Spess, her magenta face furious.

“I— I was going to dress the Lady Sun,” T’Pring said, but Mrs. Spess shook her head, antennae snapping.

“You will not have any further interaction with the Lady Sun,” she said firmly, and T’Pring experienced a now-familiar thrill of panic. “Go down to the kitchens and wait for me there, I will deal with you shortly.”

With little other choice, T’Pring drifted down to the kitchens in a haze of anxiety. She saw little hope now for a successful mission outcome—she had not found the disruptor and, it seemed, she had lost Nyota’s trust. Had Nyota herself requested that they have no further interaction, or had Mrs. Spess become aware that T’Pring had confused her and thus decided they should have no contact?

In the kitchen, T’Pring found the blue-skinned servant woman who always wheeled the golden cart into the Hall of Light during Nyota’s torture sessions. She was leaning against a table with a troubled look on her face.

“What’d you do?” she said, as soon as she saw T’Pring. “They’re all mad at you.”

“I do not know for certain,” T’Pring said honestly, sitting down at the table. "May I ask what Lady Sun said regarding me?”

The woman raised her eyebrow. “Lady Sun didn’t say much of anything. The priests brought her in again last night after she refused to talk to the Gods. Scariest session I’ve seen yet—the Lady fainted dead away before they were done with her.”

Prickles of fear skittered over T’Pring’s skin. “Was she alright? Who took care of her?”

“Mrs. Spess. I don’t know if she woke up or not—last I saw her was in the Hall. Mrs. Spess had to get a food tray to wheel her out. No idea how they got up to her rooms. Poor thing. They’re going to wring her dry before they’re done with her. Pretty soon they’ll have to come up with some tall tale about why the Lady Sun had to die. Or maybe that was their plan all along.”

T’Pring stood up, her chair scraping on the floor. The servant woman looked at her in surprise.

“I must see her,” T’Pring said, but before she could go anywhere, Mrs. Spess came bustling into the kitchen. She grabbed T’Pring by the elbow, and through her drastically weakened shields T’Pring could feel rage and embarrassment, a shadow of fear.

“You come with me,” she hissed, and dragged T’Pring out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and toward the Hall of Light.

“Mrs. Spess,” T’Pring said, but she was cut off by a raised hand.

“Be quiet. The elders will see to this.”

She wrenched open the door to the Hall and shoved T’Pring through it, leading her up to the podium where the elders, as usual, stood stern and imposing.

“Here she is, my lords,” Mrs. Spess said, still clutching T’Pring’s elbow, her grip now painfully tight.

One of the elders turned an almost lazy glance at T’Pring. “Who are you?” he said.

“T’Pring,” she answered, successfully keeping her nerves out of her voice. “Beyond that, I do not understand your question.”

“We have contacted the house of Lord Lifess. They have never heard of you.”

So they _could_ use rapid communication if it suited them. How convenient. T’Pring cast desperately around for a lie that might convince them, anything that would distract from the truth.

“I… I am just a commoner from the city. I was… I saw the Lady Sun move the Pillar of Light. I simply… wanted to be in her presence. I falsified the letter so that I could be close to her.”

“ _Close_ to her indeed. You have distracted her with your wicked, unnatural desires. You have led her to rebel against the word of the Gods.”

T’Pring could easily translate the message: _You seduced her, and now we cannot brainwash her as easily as before_.

She bowed her head in what she hoped was convincing deference. “Please forgive me. I wanted only to serve her and… experience her holiness. I wanted to… be as close to the Gods as possible.”

A long, agonizing silence stretched out. T’Pring did not dare look up at the priests, could only steep in her own anxiety.

Finally, one of the priests made a dismissive noise. T’Pring peeked at them from under the frill of her bonnet. The first priest who had spoken waved his hand.

“Pathetic creature. Leave this place and seek absolution for your abnormal expression of worship and religious devotion. Spread word of our Lady Sun’s holiness but confess your aberrance only to other spiritual leaders. Be grateful for our lenience.”

T’Pring bowed deeply, trying to mask the mix of relief and apprehension flooding her. She had managed to convince the elders that she was nothing more than a misguided worshiper, but she was still no closer to finding the disruptor or to rescuing Nyota.

She turned to flee the Hall of Light before they could say anything else, wondering desperately how she would get back to Nyota now that she had been banished. But then, to her delight, she heard the elders command, “Mrs. Spess, stay here. We must discuss Lady’s Sun’s care.”

As soon as she was out of the Hall and out of earshot, T’Pring broke into a run, finding her way to the servant staircase she had climbed her first day here.

She clattered upward, but suddenly became aware of a similar sound filtering down toward her. Someone else was on the staircase, hurrying down. Panicking, hoping that no one else in the Manor knew she had been relieved of her post, T’Pring continued, and nearly ran headlong into Nyota.

“T’Pring!” she was gasping, struggling to move quickly in her corset. T’Pring automatically reached out and grabbed her elbows to steady her. They were pressed close together in the small stairwell, and T’Pring could see the red of Nyota’s eyes, her eyelids drooping and snapping back up as if she was trying to stay focused or conscious. She was wearing a bright pink wig and a rose-colored gown, her skin ashen against the rich colors. She looked profoundly, terrifyingly unwell.

“Nyota!” T’Pring exclaimed, forgetting not to call her by name. “Oh, _ashayam_ , are you alright?”

Nyota shook her head. “They took me last night and it was… worse than it’s ever been. I’m,” she sobbed once. “T’Pring it hurts so much, and I’m so scared.”

T’Pring put a hand on her cheek. “I know, I know, but—”

Nyota cut her off. “We don’t have much time. They’re going to fire you, they think it’s your fault I’ve been led astray.”

“They already did. I was trying to find you before I depart.”

Panic suffused Nyota’s face but she seemed to force it away. She reached into a pocket of her voluminous gown and pressed something small and metal into T’Pring’s hand.

“Here. They were making me hide this, they told me it was of the Gods and that no one could ever see it. I don’t know what it is, but if you really are who you say you are, maybe it can help you get home.”

T’Pring looked down into the palm of her hand. It was the disruptor. It was humming, but when T’Pring flicked a small switch the hum dissipated. She drew a shaking breath and looked up at Nyota, who was swaying slightly.

“Thank you, Nyota. This is indeed exactly what I need in order to go home. But I beg of you to believe me: I am who I say I am. My home is your home, and we can go there together now.” It would break the Prime Directive; the Azanians would have no explanation for Nyota’s disappearance. But T’Pring could not quite find the will to care. “I know I am asking much of you, that I am asking for your faith as the elders are, but I assure you that I do not want to hurt you as they do. Nyota, I _love_ you. I want only to bring you home. _Voka’uh, voka’uh nash-veh, voka’uh_.”

Nyota stared at her, confusion and tears brimming in her big, sad eyes. Voice beginning to slur, Nyota muttered, “Remember me.”

T’Pring almost laughed. “Yes, Nyota! Yes.”

Nyota swayed more violently and the tears broke down her face. “I want to go with you. I don’t know you, I don’t know your face, but you feel right. You’re the dream I can’t quite remember, you’re the only thing that feels safe. If you say I’m Nyota and that we live on a spaceship together, I guess I believe you. Take me home.”

T’Pring had almost never cried, but she felt the intense urge to do so now. Instead, she squeezed Nyota’s arms and gave her a tiny smile. “I am so happy to hear that, Nytoa.”

A sudden chirping made them both jump. T’Pring fumbled in her pocket for her communicator, which she had apparently forgotten to silence after her last desperate call to Jim.

She flipped it open and said quietly, “T’Pring here.”

“T’Pring!” Jim’s voice was urgent. “The disruptor’s off, we have both of your signals.”

Sweet relief flooded T'Pring's mind. “Two to beam up, please, Captain.”

Nyota’s eyes were wide with shock. T’Pring shrugged one shoulder in a very human gesture of “I told you so.”

Jim huffed in frustration. “They’re scrambling us. I think someone knows we’re here. I need you to get to the copse of trees where we beamed you down—we already have a lock on those coordinates. You need to go as fast as you can, I’m guessing they’re trying to keep Uhura on the planet.”

“Understood. Stand by,” T’Pring said, snapping the communicator shut and grabbing Nyota’s hand. They ran down the stairs, Nyota whimpering in confusion and probably pain, but she seemed to realize it was imperative to simply follow T’Pring’s lead.

It did not seem especially wise to go through the kitchens, teeming with servants as they were. T’Pring broke out of the stairwell one floor above, hoping she could find her way to a door. But they had only rushed around two corners when they came skidding to a halt.

The elders were standing in a line across the hallway, blocking their path. Behind them T’Pring could see a foyer and set of ornate doors that led outside. Nyota and T’Pring squeezed each other’s hands in unison.

“My Lady Sun,” said one of the priests calmly. “Surely you do not intend to escape the will of the Gods.”

Nyota swallowed and didn’t answer. T’Pring was rapidly calculating the morality of further violating the Prime Directive—she estimated that she could nerve pinch or physically incapacitate each priest and get them safely out the door in approximately 1 minute, 22 seconds.

But there was a rustling at the edges of her awareness, and she suddenly realized that the servants were all appearing to hover in the shadows and watch the confrontation. If she revealed herself as an alien now, she could potentially contaminate the entire society. Again.

Before she could arrive at a suitable conclusion, Nyota stepped in front of her and squared her shoulders. Light from the windows poured down on her, lighting the pinks of her wig and dress until they shivered like fire. She too appeared to have noticed the servants.

“How dare _you_ try to circumvent the will of the Gods. It is me they speak to, not you. I am the conduit, I am the vessel, and _I_ know the shape of their commandments as you never will. Your treatment of me has been cruel and I assure you it has not gone unnoticed by the Gods you claim to worship. They are taking me back into their lands and I will never be seen again. The Gods diffuse their wisdom among the people, and it is now _they_ who must teach _you_ and turn you away from your wickedness.”

After an uncertain silence, Nyota growled, “Now move aside.”

“My Lady—” one of the priests protested, but Nyota screamed, her voice echoing in the luxuriant corridor.

“NOW!”

The priests, glancing at the servants watching with rapt, worshipful attention, separated and cleared their way. T’Pring and Nyota, still clutching each other’s hands, walked quickly past every silent Azanian face, every curiously waving tentacle, every fury-eyed priest. They pushed through the doors into the pink sunlight, striding out of sight.

As soon as it was safe, T’Pring broke into a run again, leading Nyota back to the copse of trees where she had materialized twelve days ago. Nyota was swaying dangerously now, and T’Pring wrapped her arms around her waist and held her close. She could not control the swelling bubble of love in her chest, nor the decidedly illogical smile on her mouth.

“Oh, my love,” she said, as Nyota buried her face in her shoulder. “You do know even know your own brilliance. What you have done—”

“You said they had to really think I was Lady Sun,” Nyota muttered. “I thought… this way… I could let them believe it without letting the priests keep controlling everyone.”

T’Pring could not find the words to express how it felt to see Nyota’s genius shine even through her disorientation and, besides, she did not have the time. Holding Nyota up with one arm, she retrieved her communicator.

“T’Pring to _Enterprise_. Do you read?”

“Loud and clear!” Jim’s voice called from the faraway darkness, “We see you now, stand by.”

T’Pring held Nyota tighter as the sparking, glittering hum enveloped them.

\---

Nyota leaned heavily against the pillows of her sickbay bed. She had never known a headache quite like this one, and her thoughts were still a bit disjointed. She could barely keep her eyes open, but she forced herself to focus on the captain, sitting at her beside with a PADD.

“Starfleet’s probably going to send some operatives back soon to infiltrate the Azanians, make sure the priests aren’t back in control. It doesn’t seem like they’d ever been quite this dangerous before; they were probably desperate because their prophecy wasn’t coming true. They’ve only had a hundred years to build this religion, so it’s likely they knew their control was tentative.”

Nyota nodded and then instantly regretted it.

“We’re still trying to figure out what exactly the Crown of Seeing was, how it was constructed. As horrible as it was, it wasn’t very effective. They had to keep doing it so often because if you’d gone long enough without it, your memories would have come back.”

“It really didn’t cause any brain damage?” Nyota rasped. She couldn’t shake the memory of the unbearable pain, and it seemed impossible that it hadn’t done lasting damage.

“It really didn’t,” Jim said gently.

Nyota closed her eyes, and Jim kindly let them sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Those clothes they put you in were _ridiculous_ ,” he said eventually, apparently intuiting that Nyota didn’t yet want to delve into the psychological impact of what she had just been through.

She smiled, just a little. “Woulda been kinda cool without, you know, all the other stuff. I think I looked awesome.”

“Oh you did,” Jim said. “But you could look great in a burlap sack. You and I are alike that way.”

Nyota laughed weakly at his teasing vanity.

“We’ll get you a Marie Antoinette costume for next Halloween.”

“Oh, that’s a _great_ idea. Spock can go as a piece of cake. Get it? Let them eat cake?”

She would have shaken her head if it didn’t hurt so much. “Good luck getting him to agree to that.”

“I mean, I got T’Pring into a frilly bonnet, didn’t I?”

She chuckled. “I guess you did. Where is she anyway?” She realized T’Pring had been gone for a while and, though she wouldn’t admit it, she was anxious to be with her again.

“Dunno, probably still interrogating Bones about whether or not you’re really gonna be ok. I’ll go look for her.”

He stood and turned toward the door but then paused, reaching down to take her hand. “I’m damn glad you’re back with us, Lieutenant.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

T’Pring came back into her private sickbay room mere seconds after Jim left, probably confirming his theory that she had been just outside pestering Dr. McCoy.

“The captain indicated that you needed me, Nyota. Are you alright?”

Her face was so serious that Nyota couldn’t help but smile. “I’m fine. I just. Well, I just wanted you to come back.”

She sat on the edge of Nyota’s bed and Nyota opened her arms. “C’mere.”

T’Pring leaned eagerly into her, curling small and close against her chest.

“I’m so sorry, T’Pring. You must have been so stressed out.”

“It is utterly illogical for you to apologize, as it was you that endured brainwashing and torture.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t an awful strain on you. Thank you for taking care of me, _ashayam_.”

T’Pring ran her fingers against Nyota’s ribs. “It is always my honor and my joy to care for you.”

Nyota rested her cheek on the top of T’Pring’s head. “I love you so much.”

T’Pring sat up and looked at her, and from the deep well of hurt in her eyes, Nyota could tell it had been too long since she had heard those words. She took T'Pring's face in her hands.

“I love you,” she said again, kissed her lightly. “I love you, I love you.”

“I love _you_ ,” T’Pring said against her mouth.

Nyota groaned and leaned away from her, back against the pillows. “Sorry, gonna have to wait for more kissing. This headache is brutal.”

T’Pring’s cool fingers came up to stroke her forehead, very softly. “You should sleep, Nyota. You have undergone a great deal.”

“So have you,” Nyota murmured. “Promise me you’ll sleep even though I’m stuck here for a few days?”

There was a long pause, and Nyota managed to open her eyes enough to glare. T’Pring sighed. “Very well. I will sleep. Eventually.”

Her fingers continued their gentle progress against Nyota’s forehead. “You are a wonder,” she said suddenly.

Nyota opened her eyes again, a warm tingle going through her at the emotion in T’Pring’s eyes.

“That’s not a very Surakian thing to say.”

“I do not care. Even as abused and disoriented as you were, you took in the overabundance of information I was providing you, you respected the Prime Directive, you _freed a people from an immoral religious order_. And you chose me, even though you did not know me.”

She said the last part as if it was an afterthought, but it was clearly, to her, the most important detail.

Nyota smiled. “I’ll always choose you, T’Pring. Every time.”

T’Pring leaned down and rested their foreheads together, her gentle weight a relief against the pain of Nyota’s pounding head.

All too soon, she pulled away. “Sleep,” she murmured.

Nyota was almost unconscious already. “Give me a few days to get stronger,” she muttered, slurring slightly, “and then I’m gonna take care of _you_. It’s your turn.”

T’Pring allowed a small smile, even though Nyota’s eyes were closed. “I look forward to it, but you will not rush your healing on my account.”

“I love you,” Nyota said, the heavy tug of sleep pulling her under.

“I love you,” T’Pring whispered. A moment later she added, “Sweet dreams.”

But Nyota was already asleep.


End file.
